The weeds grow up in my gardens every time I glance away. When
I notice how big they are getting I feel pressured, overloaded with my own
intentions and commitments, and my focus begins to suffocate, strangled in the
vines. When I just can't take it any more, I kill them with a sweaty sigh, and I
feel lighter and organized and ready to move on.
The tall thick ones with the little ugly flowers are the most
noxious, needing to go first as they are the the most negative of thoughts, the
Icants that spring up overnight to haunt me. As they disappear I see the exuberant
morning glories, tricky because they are ideas. I have too many ideas and have
to husband the ones I want to grow, and the tangled masses I DON'T want to grow
need to be pulled up by the roots. I planted some deliberately along the fence,
seeds the gift from a gifted friend; magical. These I want to grow, and I must
trim a lot of wood from the overhanging life-maintenance trees to get them some
light. The trees are insidious, growing so slowly they cover the sun without
my notice. Some serious limb-taking here!
I consider some of the bigger ones on the ground to see if
there is beauty in leaving them. This time not; this time they all must go
because I am full up with ideas and need to tend the right ones, the ones I
planted on purpose. The vines mat and twist around my good intentions, and I
gleefully pull them up by the handful. My oh my, three bags full. No wonder I
was so confused!
Now I can see the brick borders I put in place, the shiny
bushes I planted breathing their new sun, the ground mercifully uncluttered,
and I stretch my back and feel satisfied that this was a productive morning.
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